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This night, this year in a place amongst all her atoms the person they called my mother died. It’s said she was still singing as they cut her up. It’s said that oil dripped from her liver. Or it’s said that she fell through days and nights until the river at the very bottom conveyed her corpse into the jungle. It’s said, and this is how truth emerges. I look at her skeleton inside the rock of amber by my bed the sky pales over the rooftops. Then the sun appears.

Extract from

DIGTE 2014 (POEMS 2014) 20

Danish literary magazine autumn 2014  
Danish literary magazine autumn 2014  

This autumn’s book season is upon us and Danish Literary Magazine highlights some new books that show where Danish literature is ‘at’ right...